Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

TATE

‘G o home and stay home, Tate,’ Coach snaps. Over his shoulder, Doc gives me an annoying, smug, ‘Told ya’ look, which I could well do without.

‘Sorry Coach.’ He’s torn a strip off me and he’s right. I fluffed a dozen catches– just didn’t have the speed or the momentum on the field. I’ve let them all down.

I all but crawl out of the locker room, all in and dispirited.

‘Jeez, Tate. What the fuck is going on?’ Great. Dad.

‘Hey, Dad.’

‘“Hey Dad”, is all you got to say to me.’

‘How was your golfing break?’

‘A serious mistake, I’m thinking. What was that?’ He points towards the field although we both know exactly what he’s talking about.

‘Everyone has an off day.’ I don’t need this now. I’m weak as shit. The doc has given me strict instructions: fill up on protein, limited exercise and rest.

‘Other people do. Not The Don .’ His face is flushed and his eyes small, filled with ugly rage.

‘What do you want me to say?’ I’m tired to the bone. It’s been a hell of a couple of days and I’m as mad at myself as he is, maybe madder.

‘I could do with an explanation for a starter. I get to hear from the National Enquirer that The Don has lost his mind. You got engaged! Now. Are you fucking nuts?’ His voice rings with apoplectic rage. ‘This is what we’ve been working towards your whole life. What have I told you about women? Suck you dry. And what do you do? You prove me right.’

He’s been banging this drum as long as I can remember, and I’m weary of it.

‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

‘No, Don. There was something you should have told me before today.’

I look around making sure the corridor is empty. ‘Dad, it’s a publicity thing.’ Can I bring myself to tell him my fiancée is actually my bodyguard?

‘What?’ He scowls.

‘I’m not really engaged,’ I say, low and urgent.

‘It sure looks that way on all the socials.’

‘It’s a ruse. I couldn’t tell you before. It’s complicated.’

‘Well, put a stop to it, right now. It’s killing your game.’

‘It’s not that simple.’ I’m going to have to come clean to him. ‘Winston’s been getting notes, threats towards me. Some crazy says they’re going to kill me.’ I try to make light of it. He doesn’t need the worry of knowing they’ve made one attempt already.

‘I’ll be first in line if you don’t pull your head out of your ass. There are always crazies.’ He shakes his head as he paces back and forth.

‘Winston’s hired a bodyguard. Being my fiancée is her cover.’

My dad steps back. ‘Someone’s making threats to The Don.’ He laughs. ‘Come on, you can look after yourself. Who’s going to mess with you?’

‘You and I know that. But unfortunately, Winston is taking it seriously.’

‘The man’s a pussy. Has no idea how to run a fucking football team.’

If he wasn’t my dad, I’d probably point out that for a man who has no idea, he’s doing pretty well for his team to get to the biggest game of them all.

‘He threatened to kick me off the team if I didn’t go along with it.’ As soon as the words are out of my mouth, regret piles in.

My dad really goes off on one and looks like a slightly deranged Rumpelstiltskin, hopping around as he mouths obscenities about Winston, Shane, the coach– and then he adds my mom into the mix. ‘I bet she had something to do with this.’

‘Don’t bring her into it, Dad.’

‘She never wanted you to play. Always messing with your chances. I remember her saying you could miss practice to go to the prom committee. And the time she wanted to take you to the doctors instead of play in the Fresno game.’ This is a familiar tirade and it’s fruitless to point out that I had actually fractured my leg that particular game, and had to be carried off the field. My dad is on a well-trodden roll and it’s pointless to interrupt because I’ll get the same old, you-wouldn’t-be-where-you-are-today without me spiel.

I’m grateful to him. It’s true, I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. I’m the luckiest guy in the world, I get to play football and I love it, but every now and then, Dad gets carried away. He always apologises afterwards– it’s his passion for the game and his desire for me to be the best I can, he tells me. But sometimes I wonder what we’d be like if I hadn’t risen to the top flight of the game. If we’d have gone to bars together, on camping trips, celebrated birthdays together like other families did. Normal life seemed to evaporate after Mom left. Not that I’m complaining. Hard work, persistence and determination is what got me here and I wouldn’t be anything without my dad.

His rant draws to a close and he gives another disappointed shake of his head.

‘You need to show them who’s boss, Tate. After this season, you can go any place you want. You know Brad is already in talks with you-know-who.’

I hang on to my irritation. Brad is my agent, and he talks to my dad more often than I do. But Brad knows my feelings about loyalty, which is why he’s been avoiding me of late. Whether we win or lose, I won’t walk away from the Armadillos, no matter how much money is on offer.

Then Dad’s off again, and a wave of exhaustion rolls over me, nearly felling me. I grit my teeth and fight against the need to close my eyes. Showing any weakness in front of my father right now will probably send him over the edge. It’s a huge relief when I spot Lily approaching with Winston and Shane. Dad doesn’t even see her. He rounds on the two men and starts firing questions about the game plan and the strategy for the coming week.

Lily takes one look at me, and somehow separates me from the mêlée, guiding me away without anyone noticing.

‘Car’s this way,’ she murmurs taking my arm, leading me down the corridor. ‘Shane had it brought round.’

Seconds later, we’re at her car, its hazard lights flashing, and a security guard emerges from the driver’s seat holding up the keys. Lily takes them from him, has a brief interchange and then opens the passenger door and urges me inside. I collapse into the seat with relief. I’ve been running on empty for the last hour. She pulls the belt across me and clicks it into place like I’m a kid, and for once it’s nice to just be, just to let everything happen around me. I close my eyes and savour her fragrance and the swish of her silken hair across my cheek.

* * *

I wake up on the couch in my apartment a couple of hours later, with a vague memory of leaving the car and getting up here. I’m swathed in a blanket and my head is supported by a couple of pillows. Blinking into the softly lit room, it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. It’s a grey, gloomy day, and outside the lights of the city’s skyscrapers shine in neat recognisable columns. The sight reinforces the order of the world and reminds me where I am. It’s soothing, as is the sight of Lily, curled up on the opposite chair, one hand tucked under her chin reading a book in the lamplight beside her. It casts a golden glow over her hair. She really does look like an angel, and I take a moment to study her absorbed in her book, her eyes thoughtful. She’s as beautiful as ever and I have to swallow down a lump of something I refuse to identify.

Sensing my regard, she looks up and smiles. ‘Hey, there.’

‘Hey,’ I say, my voice a little raspy with sleep. ‘How long was I out?’

‘A couple of hours. You needed it.’ Her soft smile reminds me of so much I want to forget. For a second, we’re back in the past. I can almost imagine it’s just the two of us in my room in college, and the last eight years never happened. My heart pitches just a little and fear rushes in. I don’t want this.

I scowl. ‘You’ve been talking to the doc.’

She sighs. ‘Tate, it may surprise you to know that he is actually a medical professional and might just know what he’s talking about, along with your coach, who both agree that you need a couple of days’ rest.’ She holds up a hand. ‘Two days. That’s all. You can do light resistance work. No cardio.’

‘You my jailer now?’ I snarl, because I need to be mad at someone.

‘Want something to eat?’ she asks, ignoring my jibe. In answer my stomach growls and Lily shoots a cocky smile my way. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

I bite back the laugh. Lily always gives as good as she gets. She’s still got that feisty never-give-in attitude. The one that drew me to her when we first met.

It’s nice just to lie here, cocooned in the half-light, comfortable on the couch and I notice the quiet and the peace it brings with it. I listen, and at first it’s disconcerting. I always have the TV on, ESPN usually, turned up loud so I can hear the sports announcers, shouty and punchy, caught up in the moment. If I’m in the bathroom or kitchen, there’ll be more of the same on the radio.

I listen, the silence is full of muted noise; the whisper of wind around the windows, the river flow of traffic washing through the streets below, muffled sounds from the kitchen, along with the faint rustle of the fabric of my clothes and the blanket. Now I’m aware of it, I can hear my own breathing– it’s soothing. Being in the quiet is like being unplugged for a while. Normally my whole life is logged on to football, the game blasting on every channel. When was the last time I took a break? Went to the beach? Went hiking? My life is a whirl of plane flights, hotels, gyms, training, interviews and gala dinners. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. This is my life and I chose it, but with rare time to think I just wonder about maybe taking a holiday. My life is measured out in training sessions and games, off-season conditioning, pre-season camps.

Lily returns, bringing with her a plate of beans on toast, which smells surprisingly good.

‘Here you go, champ. Slim pickings in your kitchen apart from a gazillion protein shakes, which all look disgusting. Do you ever eat real food?’

‘It’s all nutritionally based,’ I say.

‘Yes, but what does it taste like?’

I shrug, then inhale. Who knew beans could smell so amazing? I realise I’m ravenous.

I haul myself into a sitting position and Lily hovers next to me with a tray bearing flatware, a paper serviette, a large glass of milk, and the toast and beans. As she places it on my knee, I have a sudden flashback of having the flu at college.

‘You’re ill, Tate.’ I remember the look of concern in Lily’s eyes as she ran a hand over my flushed face, and the nice but painful feeling it gave me. I’d wanted to lean into her cool touch and rest my forehead against hers. Instead, I’d lifted my chin and gave her an I’ve-got-this grin, I was far from feeling.

‘Can’t let the team down,’ I said, even though my head felt like it was stuffed with crumpled old newspaper and my throat was as raw as if I’d snacked on razor blades. ‘I have to go. It’s just a cold.’

I’d already spoken to my dad, who’d called earlier with some advice about strategy that he thought I should talk to Coach about. When I’d told him I was feeling rough, his response had been to ask me if, ‘I was some weakling that was going to let a few little germs stop me’.

‘Fair enough,’ Lily had said. ‘Although I’d have a word with Coach Silverman, first.’

‘What do you mean?’

She’d lifted her shoulders in one of those elegant shrugs of hers and turned her candid gaze on me.

‘I’m just wondering how he’d feel if you infected the whole team with your bug, just before the next game. It’s an important one, isn’t it?’

‘They’re all important,’ I said glibly.

‘Fair enough,’ she said and didn’t look up when I left with my kit bag slung over my shoulder.

When I got to the stadium, I went straight to see Coach Silverman. I was planning to talk to him about my dad’s advice– always tricky, as Coach sometimes suggested my dad should butt out– but I owed everything to my dad.

Coach Silverman took one look at me and, before I could even open my mouth, said, ‘Go home, Tate.’

‘What?’

‘Go home. You’re not well.’

‘How do you know? It’s just a bit of a cold.’

‘Jeez. You kids. Do you even know how to look after yourselves? Your eyes are red-rimmed, you look like you’re carrying a fever and the flu is doing the rounds. You’re no good to me or the team if you can’t give a hundred per cent.’

‘I can give a hundred per cent.’

‘There’s a difference between wanting to and being able to. Go home to bed. Drink lots of liquid and take some over-the-counter flu meds.’ He paused and then raised one finger, which was always what he did when he brooked no argument. ‘And the team does not want your germs. I’ve already sent Richardson and Beck home. This conversation is done.’

When I got back to my room, Lily had been shopping. There was a quart of orange juice by my bed, a box of Tylenol, a bar of chocolate and two tins of soup, along with a note.

Ice cream in the refrigerator.

I reverse out of the memory and glance down now at the tray on my lap.

‘You always were a good nurse,’ I tell Lily. The memory of how she used to be with me is making me an ass. I don’t want her to know I appreciate her looking after me. It’s the last thing I want from her.

But it’s as if I’ve pulled the cork out of a shaken champagne bottle. Images burst into my head like effervescent bubbles of memory. Lily tucking me up in bed. Heating up soup. Pouring me a glass of orange juice and sitting with me but not talking, just checking periodically whether I needed anything. She was so easy to have around when I felt like shit. She didn’t make it about herself, she just let me be me. She was there when I needed her. A rare skill, I realised. My Dad always believed in tough love and that exercise was the best medicine. Once, I remember him advising me to go for a run when I had food poisoning, insisting that it would get it out of my system quicker. I’d stopped in the park to puke and then collapsed on a park bench to recover…

‘Sorry,’ I say now to Lily. ‘I mean, I’m grateful. You’re good at looking after people, is all.’ I take a long slug of cold milk.

Lily shrugs. Either she’s indifferent, or looking after people is second nature to her. I’m hoping it’s the latter.

‘But Lily,’ I hold her gaze, ‘I always wondered something… Who looks after you?’

Sudden intimacy crackles between us as we stare at each other. Something flickers in her eyes, but then it’s snuffed out.

‘Don’t let it get cold,’ she says with a weak smile, and then she walks out of the room.

Interesting. The Lily I knew never backed away from anything.